


men should be what they seem

by flannelblues



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Spencer Reid, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelblues/pseuds/flannelblues
Summary: One time Spencer's trust is betrayed, and one time it isn't.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid
Comments: 13
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter 1

Spencer’s struggling to keep his eyelids from clamping shut and there’s still a whole grueling half an hour left. It’s last period english (on a Friday, too). So naturally he’s not the only one in the room that’s exhausted. He’s always found english easy. And not only that, but he likes it too, even when he’s six years younger than the other twenty-nine kids cramped into the tiny classroom with almost illegal levels of poor ventilation. He sits in the second row from the front because when he sits too close to the back things get thrown at him but when he sits too close to the front of the room he feels like everyone’s staring at him. He’s beginning to wish he sat somewhere else however, as the sun is glaring its harsh rays through one of the dust-covered windows and right onto his face, forcing him to squint at the board and gives him inklings of a headache. 

He’s bought out of his tired haze when he feels his backpack be kicked out from under his feet by the boy sitting next to him, who feels like he’s at least twice Spencer’s size. He scrambles to try and hook onto it with one of his sneakers but it’s out of his reach now. Mr. Evans has his back turned to the students as he scribbles quotes on the board to assist them in their analysis of themes in 1984, but after thirty or so seconds of shuffling sounds and snickering, he caps his red marker and turns around to see what’s made everyone so lively all of a sudden. But Spencer’s bag has already been kicked in a relay fashion to the other end of the room, it’d been sitting under his desk unzipped so a few of his books as well as his water bottle had fallen out along the way, and his face burns with embarrassment as he tries to drown out the snickers from his classmate. He watches as Mr. Evans picks up the grey backpack and the realization washes over the man’s features. 

“William Edwards?” He says, keeping his voice even but stern as he looks at the boy sitting next to Spencer. Will looks up, surprised to actually be called out on his actions. “Pick up Spencer’s things and return them to him now, please.”

-

After the bell rings and his class has started walking (it’s really closer to running) out of the room when he hears his teacher’s voice.

“Hey Spencer, hang back a minute alright?” And so he does. 

The last few students leave the room and it’s so quiet. The lights hadn’t been turned on that lesson as they didn’t need to be since the sun seemed to be doing such a good job. The classroom is cast in a warm, marigold glow which makes Spencer only more tired. He’s still standing by his desk, making sure his zips are all done up properly.

“You don’t catch a bus, do you?” Mr. Evans asks him and sits down on one of the front row desks, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his legs.

“No sir.” He shakes his head a little and the older man chuckles slightly. The air is still and silent between them for a few seconds.

“Do those kids pick on you a lot, Spencer?” His teacher sighs and his thick eyebrows furrow. He started teaching them just a few days ago after their old teacher went on maternity leave and most of the kids in his class had seemingly been trying to make a good first impression in hopes of it translating into their grades, but they must’ve gotten bored of it. Spencer’s not really sure how to respond. He begins fiddling with his backpack straps and gnaws at the inside of his cheek. If he says yes, he’ll be embarrassed  _ and  _ a snitch. If he says no, he knows that his teacher will see through the obvious lie, which would almost make him more pathetic, so he settles for a mid-point. “A little.” He’s surprised that his mumbling can even be understood.

Mr. Evans narrows his eyes at him, and Spencer’s looking anywhere other than his teacher’s face. Thick silence fills the room again.

“Are you enjoying the novel?” Now that’s a question Spencer knows he can actually answer, and he nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah! I think that George Orwell has a really interesting writing style, and I think the themes are interesting. Oh, and I think the ending’s done well.”

“Didn’t you kids only receive it on Tuesday? How’ve you finished it already?” Mr. Evans chuckles a little.

“I uh- I read kinda fast.” ‘Kinda’ is such an understatement and he knows it. He’d already finished reading and annotating the novel before school had even ended that day. 

“How old are you, Spencer? There’s no way you’re eighteen.” Mr. Evans is still smiling and he looks genuinely curious, but Spencer’s still caught off guard by the question. 

“Twelve.” He looks away from his teacher’s face again.

“Woah, skipped six grades huh?” He gives Spencer a sympathetic smile, “Must be difficult to connect with the other students, yeah?” Spencer sinks into himself a little, he doesn’t like to think about it. He nods. Mr. Evans stands up and pats him on the shoulder.

“Well. You’re always welcome to come to my classroom if you need any help or even if you just want to talk.” He smiles down at Spencer, and he gives a small smile back. 

Spencer takes his teacher up on the offer and for the first few weeks, it’s great. He has somewhere to sit at lunchtime when he can’t brave the cafeteria, and he has someone to talk about books with that isn’t his mother. And Mr. Evans actually listens to what Spencer has to say, even if he rambles about his interpretations of different symbols and motifs until he’s practically run out of breath. 

(Having an adult who Spencer really feels like he can trust is the best part though.)

  
However, around a month later, Spencer’s held after class on another Friday afternoon for what he assumes is just going to be another discussion about George Orwell while Mr. Evans grades papers yet still manages to listen intently. But then it’s  _ not  _ and that trust feels like it’s been shattered  _ forever-  _ and Spencer doesn’t get home until it’s dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Just about a decade after Spencer Reid graduates high school, he’s about forty hours away from Las Vegas and has been in the BAU for a little under a year. 

He likes his co-workers, he’s pretty sure. While admittedly, he was initially slightly frightened of Derek Morgan, who’s athletic, charismatic, and a list of other things that Reid’s not, they warm up to each other quickly enough and Reid doesn’t feel like there’s some joke he’s not a part of every time Morgan talks to him. And he has Jason Gideon to thank for so much, for giving him a solid direction to take in his life. 

Aaron Hotchner, his boss, however, is a bit of a different story. 

The man is quiet, almost shy, yet still commanding. Reid knows that he’s married and that’s about it. Hotch has never treated Reid poorly by any means, and Reid appreciates the fact that he feels that he’s being seen as capable. He never gets irritated when Reid is fidgeting or doesn’t want to shake someone’s hand. Hotch respects Reid’s boundaries. And not only that, but he makes sure other people do too. 

He doesn’t want to be treated like a child (he’s not blind though. He’s the youngest in the building by years. He’s always so much younger), but being subtly accommodated for is something he’s come to appreciate.

Reid’s had a migraine brewing in the back of his skull for the past fourteen hours and eighteen minutes. The Advil he probably had one too many pills of has barely made a dent and now when Morgan taps him on the shoulder he feels like he’s five seconds away from throwing up.

“You good, man?” Morgan has taken his suit jacket off and has it pulled over his shoulder. Reid wonders why he’s carrying it around like that.

“Yeah.” He grits out, unfortunately sounding a little breathless. He’s not really looking up at Morgan as there’s an absolutely excruciatingly fluorescent light right behind his friend’s head. They stare at each other for a few moments and Morgan quirks his left eyebrow, itching to argue. But Reid is trying to communicate every single ‘go away, I’m fine’ signal in the book so he doesn’t, and Reid’s thankful. It feels like the light is piercing every inch of his skull and frying his brain. It’s horrible.

He considers maybe asking if he can go home a few hours early, after all, it’s not like he can do much work anyway, right? But then he immediately shuts that idea down. What if that makes them realize that he’s not competent, that he’s too young? He can’t risk it. He’s not going to. But all he wants to do is just curl up in a ball and sleep.

So he settles for digging his palms into his eyes to achieve that peaceful oblivion. And even that barely takes away any pain. What seems like an effort by the universe to make things somehow even worse, someone’s walking around and their shoes are scraping against the floor by the coffee machine in just the wrong way. 

The lights are making his stomach twist and flip now, it feels like there’s a hand messing around his insides just for the sake of it. He tells himself to suck it up, stop acting like a child, and grabs the blue ballpoint pen.

Just as he’s about to begin writing, the voice of his boss reaches him.

“Reid?” After turning around to look at him, Reid sees him signaling to come into his office. What’s he done wrong? Does Hotch think he’s being unproductive? Is he getting kicked out? Nearly tripping as he bends to pick his messenger bag off the floor, he feels his heart racing at a million miles per hour.

By the time he reaches Hotch’s office, the man is already sitting back at his desk and Reid can’t help but notice he’s shut the blinds.

“Morgan informed me that you weren’t feeling well. Is that true?” Hotch’s face is largely unreadable, but it looks like there's genuine concern in his eyes. Why on Earth would Morgan tell him that?   
“I’m alright, I just had a bit of a headache earlier.” He tries his best to look shocked that Morgan would even say such a thing, but no more than a few seconds later it’s painfully clear that Hotch is not buying it on any level. Reid cringes at his very recent past self for trying to lie and looks at the wall behind Hotch’s head.

“Reid. It’s okay if you’re sick but you need to tell me.” Hotch is staring at Reid dead in the eyes in the dim light.

Just as Reid’s about to answer, another bout of nausea fills him and he panics. Hotch, however, is able to pass up a plastic trash can just in time. After Reid has thrown up he heaves into it and just kind of cradles it in his thin arms. His face goes red with shame and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. But he’s _not_ going to cry in front of his boss.

They sit in silence for a moment, Reid still avoiding eye contact before Hotch takes a deep breath. “Reid, I think that you should go home early today.”  
“The next train home doesn’t come for another two hours. No point.” His voice is croaky with dehydration. Hotch pulls his lips in a tight line, a bit like he’s talking to a disobedient child.

“Okay. Then you’re going to have a rest on my couch.”

“What? No. I don’t need to. I can keep working, it’s fine.”

“I’ll leave the room if it makes you more comfortable but it’s that or you’re going home.”

Reid huffs and walks himself to the dark blue couch. He wants so desperately to just sink into it but Hotch is right there. So he just crosses his arms and sits stiffly. 

After a good twenty minutes, Reid does start to feel a little less like he’s dying, and he realizes that the reason Hotch shut the blinds must’ve been to keep the light out.

“Thanks, Hotch.” He says, just loud enough to be heard.

“It’s no problem.” And this man Reid barely knows smiles at him, but it’s what he says next that ruins it. “You’re welcome to come in here if you’re ever struggling or unwell.” And those words are just too similar, too familiar and remind him all too much of Mr. Evans. And now that Reid’s thinking about it, they both wear similar ties and they’re both tall and he can’t breathe properly and-

“Reid?” Hotch is standing over him now, when did he get there?  
“Please- Just,” Reid feels tears running down his face, he can’t believe this is happening again. “-don’t. Don’t”

“Don’t what? Reid?” Hotch’s tone is laced with just a thin layer of panic.

“You know!” Reid snaps at him, his voice thick with tears. He stands up and tries to push Hotch.

“No- I really don’t-” Reid _really_ looks at Hotch’s face and realizes that his panic is misplaced, but he doesn’t stop crying.

“Sorry.” He says. “Don’t know what came over me.” Keeping his voice as flat as possible, he looks Hotch in the eye.

“What’s going on with you?” Hotch is quiet now, his eyebrows pressed together. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to.

“You- uh, you reminded me of this teacher I had in high school. My english teacher. He told me that I could go to him for help, like you did. But, he um-” Reid can’t finish, and even what he does manage to say comes out in a quick mumble. But he doesn’t need to.

“I understand. I’m sorry if I frightened you.” Hotch nods, and now it’s his turn to look at the floor. “Would you like me to ask Morgan to drive you back to your apartment?” Reid knows he doesn’t have a choice, so he simply nods.

  
Hotch leaves the room and Reid just stands in the centre, clutching his bag. Why is he just _so_ stupid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not really a happy ending oops. Also, I forgot to mention it but the title is from Othello haha

**Author's Note:**

> next chapter should be out soonish :), and should be a lot happier


End file.
